


Dirty Jokes

by officialvarrictethras



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dwarf Sex, Exhibitionism, F/M, Outdoor Sex, aw yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:03:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1559240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officialvarrictethras/pseuds/officialvarrictethras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from tumblr -- "Lady Cadash and Varric tell progressively dirty jokes/stories around a camp fire with the others until they get themselves so worked up they have to sneak away for some fun time."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Jokes

"Have you seen the size of my  _dagger_?”

"I certainly have, and from what I hear, you need better control of it."

Dirty jokes and limericks are a favorite pastime of Varric’s, so when he discovers that their dear Inquisitor shares his same passions, he tests to see just how much she knows.

He chuckles, taking the pipe from is teeth and tamping down the embers a bit with his thumb. “Oh, believe me, my dear, I’ve got  _excellent_  control of my dagger.”

"That’s not what Cassandra tells me," she counters, from her position in a chair by the fire. She’s sitting comfortably, legs crossed at the knee, a whetstone moving over the blade of her own dagger. They’ve both had just a bit too much to drink. There’s a flush across her cheeks that doesn’t escape Varric’s notice.

"Oh? What did the Seeker tell you?"

Lady Cadash smirks. “Something about a skewered book when you couldn’t stop  _lying through your teeth_.”

Varric laughs at this, replacing the pipe between his lips as he watches her hands move across the blade of her daggers. He wonders, idly, what other things those clever fingers could do. He adjusts his position in his chair a little.

"And just how many daggers have you seen, my lady?"

"I’ve seen my fair share," she responds with a lecherous smirk that obliterates all thought from Varric’s mind for a split second. He swallows and manages to recover in record time. He shoots her his own saucy grin.

"Oh is that so? And you’ve never seen one this big, am I right?" he asks, wiggling his eyebrow for emphasis.

“ _Parshaara!_ Would you two just get a room and  _shut the hell up?_ " snaps Iron Bull finally, slamming his fist into the table where he’s sitting, repairing some of his armor.

Varric and Lady Cadash share shocked, playful glances, before bursting into laughter. Iron Bull starts muttering darkly in Qunlat, before getting to his feet and disappearing into his tent.

They sit in amicable silence together for a long time, but Varric’s mind begins to wander. His gaze flicks back to her, and then the fantasies begin. He has to admit, he’s thought about having her before — in his tent, in the glow of his lantern. He almost wants the others to hear the noises she’d make.

He swallows hard.  _Now is not the time for this._

She’s moving now, sheathing her dagger at her hip and pushing herself up from the chair with a sigh. Varric always takes the time to appreciate how fluid she is when she moves, how careful every action is, even when she’s drunk. She walks around the fire, not a step out of place, and approaches him.

Varric tries his best to seem casual, almost  _disinterested_. But when she leans in close, the smell of sweet mead on her breath and an impish smirk to her lips, he’s dumbfounded — caught off guard by her sudden closeness.  _Maker_ , she was stunning in the firelight, her eyes seeming to glow.

"Good night, Varric," she says, simply and softly, and then she’s moving away, her fingers trailing invitingly over his shoulder as she passes by.

Varric swallows.  _Maker’s breath,_  was she really — ?

There is silence around the camp, save for the merry chirping of crickets and the occasional popping of the logs in the fire. Varric casts surreptitious glances at the other members of the Inquisition. No one seems to have noticed Lady Cadash’s brash approach. Or if they had, they’re good at hiding it.

He waits for a moment longer before putting out his pipe and getting out of his chair with a sigh. He walks, as casually as he can manage, towards her tent. However, he doesn’t actually make it to the flap.

A hand materializes from the Fade itself and takes a tight hold of his lapel. He grunts in surprise as the hand yanks him towards the tree line behind her tent. Lady Cadash pushes him roughly against a tree trunk, and crushes her mouth against his. She’s overzealous and forceful in her advances, nipping at his bottom lip between passionate kisses.

Varric’s mind reels — it’s all he can do to get his hands around her waist before she’s pushing his duster off his shoulders. She works fast; his tunic joins the duster on the ground a second later, and she steps back to admire him, eyes dark and hungry. Varric would be embarrassed, but his mind is  _consumed_  with the idea of feeling her naked skin beneath his hands.

She’s insatiable, hands greedily exploring every inch of him as their lips meet again and again. His own hands are novices compared to her expert fingers, fumbling with the laces of her bodice as she dizzies him with her hot mouth against his throat.

"Shit," he says softly, when she nips his Adam’s apple, and she grins at him in the darkness, her teeth glinting. Varric is strongly, suddenly, reminded of a wolf. Does that make him the hapless rabbit, then? 

He certainly hopes she intends to devour him.

The bodice comes free at last, and it joins his tunic and duster at their feet. His hand slips beneath the cotton chemise, and he isn’t surprised to find she wears no breast band. She smothers a moan against his neck when his hand kneads a breast, pulling at the taut nipple until she arches. She bites down her bottom lip to stifle her cry of pleasure.

Here is where Varric finds his true talents. His other hand joins its twin beneath her blouse, and she trembles under his ministrations. 

And then she turns the tables again, when her hand cups his erection through his breeches. He gasps sharply, but there’s no time to adjust, because her fingers are yanking loose the laces of his trousers now, and within moments she has him freed from his constrictive clothes. 

She gives him a stroke and he sees stars.

A laugh, low and quiet in his ear, and she’s kneeling before him. It takes his befuddled brain a moment to register where she’s gone and -

“ _Shit!”_

He just can’t keep himself quiet when her hot tongue laves across the underside of his shaft. They freeze, waiting to be discovered. She smiles salaciously up at him, her hands stroking him torturously slow.

"Varric? Are you well?" It’s Cassandra’s voice, and it sounds,  _thankfully_ , a ways off.

Lady Cadash smirks up at him and takes him fully into her mouth without hesitation. His breath hitches, but he manages to answer Cassandra anyway.

"Y-Yes! I just… Stubbed my toe! I’m fine!" his voice cracks on the last word, because Lady Cadash’s tongue is doing  _marvellous_  things to him now, and he prays to whatever gods are listening for Cassandra to decide not to investigate further.

"…Alright. Good night, Varric."

He doesn’t respond — he  _can’t_  bring himself to speak again — and Lady Cadash moans softly as she moves up and down, sending delicious vibrations through his cock that almost have him undone on the spot. His hips buck involuntarily against her mouth, and he grits his teeth to keep himself quiet.

She opens her eyes and looks up at him through her long lashes, lips still wrapped around his shaft, and  _fuck_ , she is gorgeous. His hand grips her hair, as if she is an anchor to keep him from floating away.

The exquisite torture continues for a few more minutes, and she brings him to the cusp of orgasm, but he will  _not_  spend himself in her mouth. He tugs on her hair, and she rises, suddenly obedient. It’s Varric’s turn to be the aggressive one now, as their lips meet again, and his tongue invades her mouth to taste  _all_  of her. 

It’s all she can to do stay standing, so she clings to his waist for support.

He turns her, pushing her face-first into the tree, and he pulls down her leggings. He drags her hips flush against his, grinding mindlessly against her. She murmurs quiet words of consent and encouragement, and he hilts himself without further preamble.

For a heartbeat, they are still, basking in the carnal feel of flesh against flesh. His fingers dig into her hips, and he starts moving with a sharp inhale through clenched teeth.

Neither of them are going to last long, but that’s fine. He sets a brutal, punishing pace, blindly seeking his release. She bows her back, throwing her head back against his shoulder. One of his hands snakes around her thigh, to rub at the apex between her legs as he thrusts, whispering to her,  _come for me, yes, come for me, darling,_  and this becomes their undoing.

They reach the precipice together, and together they fall into the abyss. Still joined, she twists and kisses him, the first of many stolen kisses as they begin to right themselves. When Varric finally shrugs on his duster, she turns and folds herself into his arms with a sigh.

"Maybe you have control over your dagger, after all," she says with a smirk, and he laughs.

However, his laughter dies away when they return to camp and he sees the look of mortification on everyone’s collective faces. 

_Well, shit._

"I thought I told you to  _get a room!_ " snarls Iron Bull.


End file.
